Steve finds her, unsurprisingly, in the workshop. She’s staring at the Iron Man armor with a half-contemplative, half-impressed expression and would keep constantly running her hands over the smooth, shiny surface of the suit, as though a part of her wanted to take it apart—to see what was inside—and then put it back together again, like she wanted to hop right into it and take it for a spin.
It was such a Tony thing to do, Steve felt himself smile. “What do you think?” he asks.
She turns around at his voice and Steve has to remind himself that this was Tony, or at least a part of him. She still looks every bit like Tony—well, if Tony had a twin, Steve can imagine this might be what she’d look like: short, wavy hair that just refuses to be tamed; the same dark eyes, the shape and the way they spark intelligence and mischief all at once; and their hands: worker hands, with calluses and burns and scars, but with the ability to create the most amazing things Steve has ever seen.
The only physical difference between them (other than her being a woman and Tony being a man) was their size. She was a lot smaller than Tony, her thin frame not nearly as bulky with muscle, and not nearly as tall either; whenever she’d stand next to Steve, she could only reach the tip of his chin. But her stature didn’t deter her presence in the least—if anything, Steve found her a lot harder to ignore than if she’d been a man; she just demanded attention the same way Tony commanded it.
“Well, I built it,” she drawls, her voice a little higher. “Of course it’s going to be bad ass.”
Steve snorts. Definitely Tony.
She raises an eyebrow at him. “Come here to babysit me, Captain?”
“No,” says Steve instantly. “Just wanted to see what you were up to.”
“Uh huh,” she says, not buying it. She walks up to him and Steve does his best to keep his eyes trained on her face. She’s wearing his shirt, the hem eating up her whole body like a dress. A very attractive dress, Steve doesn’t quite think.
“Oh don’t give me that, Steve,” she says, reaching out to put a hand on his chest; her fingers running down the center of it all the way to his stomach. Steve can feel himself twitching and tingling at her touch.
“What are you doing?” he murmurs, but doesn’t pull away. He leans right into it, bracketing her against the table counter with his arms.
She looks up and gives him a smile, and Steve’s receiving a major whiplash again at how vastly similar and different she and Tony are. But it’s the smile that does him in. It’s the smile that—regardless of which part of Tony this was—still remained the same.
“What do you think I’m doing?” she says softly, snaking her arms around his neck while Steve cups her hips. She’s grinning now, a breath away from his mouth. “My other half won’t make a move, but that doesn’t mean I won’t.”
Steve knows he should put a stop this, pull away, but he can’t. He feels a sense of thrill at those words.
Instead he asks, “Why?” He clears his throat. “I mean, why won’t you—Tony—make a move?”
She’s playing with the back of his hair which is pretty pleasant and distracting, but there’s something in her eyes Steve recognizes in an instant: it’s a look that speaks of years of self-depreciation, sadness and disappointment. Steve’s instinct is to remove that look completely.
But before he can say anything, she’s pulling him down for a kiss. Her mouth soft underneath his own with the taste of coffee and strawberry lip gloss, and Steve’s cupping her face in his hands and kissing back, just as enthusiastically.
“Tony…” he murmurs.
“Natasha,” she says, her voice coming out strong. At Steve’s stare, she says, looking a little sheepish, “I’ve always liked the name.”
But Steve’s leaning back in again, his mouth already capturing hers in another kiss.
Tony and Natasha, Natasha and Tony—they were the same. They were still part of the same whole.
“Natasha,” he says and Natasha sighs and holds on.
“I don’need you t’carry me, Steven,” Tony slurs as Steve hoists him securely in his arms, taking the steps one at a time. “Yerr not even a little bitsmashed arentchu?”
“You know I can’t get drunk,” Steve says shortly, reaching the landing. “You also know having a drinking match with Clint, Logan and Thor will get you no where fast.”
Tony hiccups. “Swas fun,” he mumbles, burying his face into the crook of Steve’s shoulder.
Steve does his best not to be overly conscious of the way he can feel Tony’s mouth grazing his neck. It becomes more insistent by the time they finally reach Tony’s room; Tony’s pressing his lips to his neck, licking and biting the exposed skin.
Steve deposits Tony to his bed gently. “Stop that,” he says firmly when Tony reaches out to him again. “I said stop, Tony.”
“Why?” Tony murmurs, going still.
Steve rolls his eyes. “You’re drunk,” he says. “I’m not about to take advantage of you when you’re like this.”
“Nevr’mind I’m the one tryin’ to take ‘vantage of you,” Tony says and Steve suppresses a groan when Tony hands touch the hem of his shirt, his fingers tickling flesh. Steve takes his wrists and pins them down. Tony grins. “I like’t when yerr’agressive, Steve.”
Steve steels himself. “No,” he grits. “Not like this.”
Tony makes a face and rolls over the blankets, squishing his face into the pillows. “Yerr’no fun,” he grumbles.
Steve sighs heavily but helps Tony out of his shoes and his shirt and then drags the covers over his shoulders.
“Just get some rest. I put some aspirin and water by your bed,” he tells Tony by way of avoiding an awkward silence. But Tony’s watching him now, his expression unreadable. “Tony?” Steve frowns. “You okay?”
“Why ar’you always takin’ care of me?” he asks, sounding genuinely confused and awed at the same time.
Steve blinks at him. “You’re my friend,” he says, although Steve can’t help but think that last bit was a lie. Tony was his friend, of course, but somehow, their relationship feels more than that. “If I don’t do it, who else will?”
Tony smiles but it looks out of place. “Yerra good man, Steve Rog’rs,” he says.
Hair has fallen over his eyes and Steve automatically brushes it away. “So are you,” he says softly.
Tony shakes his head. “Mm’not,” he mumbles with a bitter laugh. “M’drunk and I tried to seduce you… how issat any good?” Before Steve can tell him his attempts weren’t necessarily one-sided, Tony says, “Yerralways lookin’ for the best in other people, even when they don’t deserve it… I think s’why I like you so much.”
Steve can feel his heart beating wildly. “Tony, that’s not true. I like you too—”
“S’true,” Tony says vehemently, closing his eyes. “You won’t even make a move.”
“You’re drunk,” Steve says, but that just sounds like an excuse now.
Tony closes his eyes. “Yerr too good for me, Steve… I’re already knew that,” he says, already drifting into sleep. “I don’ have a chance…”
Steve’s eyes widen, but he’s speaking, “That’s not true.” Even more quietly, he says, “You’re the one who’s out of my league…”
But Tony’s already asleep.
Steve feels his back hit the mattress and Natasha climb on top of him, straddling his lap; her mouth feasting on his with a long ease of someone who’s had loads of practice.
“We… we shouldn’t be doing this,” Steve says, even though he’s gripping onto Natasha’s hips and dragging her down for another kiss; his fingers getting tangled in her dark, wild curls; her lips still as soft as he remembers.
“Why not?” she says, blinking familiar brown eyes at him. She’s grinning impishly and it’s just so Tony he doesn’t dispute when Natasha removes his shirt. Her eyes roam over his chest hungrily and satisfied.
“You’re … married,” Steve stammers, staring at the ring on her finger.
It’s still so strange to think in another world, he and Tony are married (he’s been running the words Natasha Stark-Rogers in his head for the past hour and it still has yet to sink in), but at the same time, the idea makes him ache and long for something he doesn’t have. He can’t help but wonder if maybe Tony’s name was different…
Tony Stark-Rogers, he thinks, and the ache grows until it’s almost palpable.
Natasha leans down and kisses him. “Yes, I’m married,” she says, “to you.”
“No, not me,” Steve says, but he’s kissing her back and falling against the pillows, moaning as her hands drift to remove his pants. “Another me. Another Steve.”
“It’s still you,” she says, removing her shirt; giving Steve an eyeful of smooth, tanned skin, slim hips and pert breasts. But it’s the reactor at the center of her chest that Steve can’t look away from; it's the same bright blue as Tony’s. “You’re still my Steve, regardless of what world we’re in.”
Natasha touches his cheek and Steve looks up at her eyes.
“And I’m still me,” she whispers. “I’m still yours.”
Yours. Your Tony.
When Natasha sinks onto him, Steve doesn’t hold back.
They’re in Tony’s office, glaring and fuming at each other; irritation and frustration at an all out high. The party downstairs is still going on, but Steve’s far from feeling celebratory at this moment. He’s seething, the tick on his jaw still twitching and he has an urge to punch something… or someone.
Finding Tony and that man together in the bathroom stall, seeing the way that man had his hands all over Tony—underneath his shirt, his mouth leaving bruises and marks on skin—and Tony… Tony was letting him—made something in Steve snap and turn cold and then hot.
He’s not sure what happened—he’s still seeing red from the memory—but he’s pretty sure the look on his face had scared the other man off, and Tony didn’t take too kindly at the interruption if the angry, indignant scowl on his face had been anything to by. Needless to say there was yelling and bickering all the way to the elevator.
“It’s not any of your business who I sleep with, Steve,” Tony snaps, shoving Steve away.
“Like hell it is,” Steve growls, pushing back into him.
Tony’s has his back against the glass of his window, completely cornered, but he’s not backing down. “You’ve never done anything about it before,” he says quietly. “You’ve never made a move.”
Steve crowds him into the glass, hands bracing at either side of Tony’s head. “Well, I am now,” he says, his voice low.
Tony raises a chin at him. “Well, what are you waiting for?”
And that’s definitely a challenge.
Steve ducks down and kisses Tony soundly. And it’s automatic, like a wall breaking or their resolves shattering. Steve’s mouth comes down harsh and rough and Tony’s clutching him and kissing back, just as fiercely and hungrily.
Maybe it was the fighting or maybe it was years of pent up frustration, of holding back and denying, of lying to each other and themselves finally catching up to them—all Steve knows is he doesn’t want to stop.
Clothes are yanked off, skin is met and mouths continue to collide and move in a never-ending dance. Steve has Tony pressed against the glass, with Tony’s arms at his shoulders, his hands in Steve’s hair, urging him closer, while Steve grips at Tony’s legs and hoists them higher on his hips. The only light is from Tony’s reactor and it’s the only light Steve ever cares to know.
“Tony, oh god, Tony,” Steve chants helplessly, burying his face into Tony’s shoulder.
“Fuck, Steve, fuck,” Tony moans as Steve starts to move his hips. “Yes, yes, don’t stop, don’t stop—don’t you dare stop—” he whispers, pulling Steve for another opened mouth kiss.
Steve just pushes Tony further up the window and keeps on going even long after glass has fogged up.
“Um,” says Steve staring between the two. “This is so weird.”
“What’s so weird?” says Natasha, grinning. She’s underneath him, her dark hair splayed on his pillow and her legs spread apart at either side of him.
“Yeah, this was your idea, Steve,” Tony says from behind him. He’s nipping at Steve’s shoulder, making Steve shudder and moan; he can feel Tony smile against his skin, but he doesn’t need to look at him to know it’s the same as Natasha’s.
“It’s both your faults,” Steve says, groaning as Natasha slips the condom over his cock and Tony prepares him with his fingers. It’s like a sensory overload, making it difficult to breathe and think. “You guys just had to… ahh… had to make out in front of me.”
“Why, Steven, I didn’t know selfcest was a kink of yours,” Tony teases, biting at his ear.
“Shut up,” Steve pants. “It’s not.”
But he couldn’t deny some truth in that. Seeing Tony and Natasha together, watching the way their tongues swirled against one another, made Steve’s dick flag up instantly.
“Enough talking already,” Natasha says, rutting her hips against Steve’s, making him duck and moan. “I want to see my Super Soldier put that stamina to good use, like now.”
“Ours,” Tony corrects, but he’s lining up his cock to Steve’s ass. “You ready?”
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Steve says, already shaking from anticipation.
Tony and Natasha grin.
“Relax, babe,” Natasha says at the same time Tony whispers in his ear, “We’ve got you.”
And they do. They really, really do.